


Heartbreak

by meetmeatthecoda



Series: Prison Possibilities [2]
Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: AU on 6.09, Angst, Dembe tells Red the truth, F/M, Lizzington - Freeform, Lots of Angst, and also drama of course, and then some more angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 12:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18073343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeatthecoda/pseuds/meetmeatthecoda
Summary: "'How could you?' The words are hissed, furious, and they make her jump even worse than before, sending a shiver down her spine at the same time. Oh no."AU take on the end of 6.09 where Dembe reveals to Red that Liz betrayed him. Liz's POV as she rushes to the jail to face the consequences. Very angsty Lizzington.





	Heartbreak

_He knows, he knows._

These two words are the only ones reverberating in Liz’s mind as she drives, fast and panicked, to the prison. She asked Dembe not to tell him, though she really had no right to, but she knew as she looked at him that he wouldn’t keep her secret. He had gazed at her with sympathy (that much hasn’t changed) but also with resolve, that steely, determined look that told her exactly where his loyalties lie.

And she doesn’t blame him.

(As hard as she tries, there really isn’t anyone left to blame but herself these days.)

But by now Red knows that it was her that tipped off the police, got him arrested, put his life in the hands of the criminal justice system. The very one that he has spent the last five years showing her is flawed and not to be trusted. Dangerous. 

Red is in danger. Because of her.

And  _he knows_.

(She has no idea what's going to happen next.)

Liz pulls up to the prison with screeching tires, throwing the car in park, and struggling to wrench the keys out of the ignition with shaking hands, some strange emotion coursing through her and making her tremble. She feels sick inside, everything tight and strained and hurting, and she wishes with all her heart that she never listened to Jennifer. She knew the moment she reluctantly agreed to it, before she even saw him in handcuffs and a jumpsuit, that this wasn’t what she really wanted.

(She's never felt so truly repulsed with herself.)

Liz wastes no time though, running into the building and flashing her badge at the familiar guard, waving him off when he makes to stand and show her to Red’s cell. She’s been here far too many times in the past weeks to not know where she's going. Besides, she has a feeling that an audience is not prudent for whatever is about to happen.

(She knows from experience that the desecration of trust is a startlingly private affair.)

It’s with that thought that she stumbles down the stairs to Red’s holding cell, righting herself just as she reaches the bottom to see Dembe there, turned toward her expectantly, his face impassive. Her restless eyes flick to Red at once, but he faces away from her, seemingly studying the far wall of his cell.

Liz can do nothing but stare, wide-eyed, at Dembe’s face, which remains smooth and blank, betraying nothing, while she grasps the hand rail, struggling to remain upright.

“Leave us, please, Dembe.”

Red’s words make her jump, so unexpected in the tense silence of the room, and Dembe gives no verbal response, just walks forward, silent and stoic as always, to move past her and up the stairs.

(She wishes intensely that he would stay and provide some barrier between her and Red. As if there aren’t already bars in between them. Bars she put there.)

Liz looks at Red’s back, broad shoulders in his suit jacket, still facing away from her, his arms crossed. She wishes he would turn around, she’s never wanted to see his face quite so desperately, never needed some clue as to what he was thinking like she does right now.

(That unfamiliar sensation continues to claw at her insides, making her swallow convulsively, unable to move, but she can't stand here forever.)

With a shaky breath, Liz releases her death grip on the hand rail and moves closer to the cell door, feeling strangely set adrift without something to hold onto. 

(Memories of Red’s hand grasping hers, keeping her grounded, safe,  _alive_ , come to mind, sending another wave of that crippling  _feeling_  through her and  _what_   _is it_?)

Liz comes to a stop in front of the door, rubbing her scar repeatedly, the skin becoming warm and irritated, eyeing the tense line of his shoulders. She supposes she should speak, although she thinks her heart is currently somewhere in her throat, making it very difficult to force air out and form words.

“R-Red?”

It’s a pathetic whisper, one she wouldn’t be sure he could hear if they weren’t completely alone in such a deathly silent place. She tries again.

“Red?”

A little stronger, a little louder, but still no response. The silence is starting to press inwards on her, pushing uncomfortably on her ears like water.

“Red, please say somet—”

“ _How could you?_ ”

The words are hissed, furious, and they make her jump even worse than before, sending a shiver down her spine at the same time.

Oh no.

“I didn’t –”

“You didn’t what?” he snaps, not letting her finish and still not turning around, speaking to the brick wall in front of him. “You didn’t  _mean to_ _?_  Spare me the sob story,  _Agent Keen_. As usual, there’s no one here to blame but yourself. And this time? This time I won’t be so quick to forgive.”

Every one of his words is doing something to her, punching holes in her everywhere, making her  _hurt_.

“Red, please, Jennifer said –”

“Oh yes, Jennifer,” he interrupts her once again, the venom in his voice palpable. “Dembe told me all about your little vendetta, your precious  _sisterly bond_.” He sneers the words in a way that she’s never heard before, one that has her mouth gaping, tears gathering in her eyes. “But don’t try and put this on her, that won’t work. It may have been her idea, but you didn’t say no, did you? And _you_   _could have said no!_ ”

Liz notices vaguely that she’s wrapped her arms around herself, perhaps trying to hold together the gaping wounds that he’s inflicting on her, and she can’t do this anymore, can’t take one more second looking at his back, has to see his face, his  _beloved face_  –

“Red,  _please_ , turn around and look at m–”

But she’s not prepared for him to actually listen to her and when he whips around, she’s not at all ready for the sight of his face, contorted in grief and anger and –

Oh.

So.

That's what heartbreak looks like.

(And his expression resonates oddly with the gutted feeling inside her and  _oh, that’s it._ This god-awful emptiness, this aching, pounding,  _throbbing_   _thing_. It’s heartbreak. She thought she knew what it felt like, but no. No, this hurts worse than anything Tom ever did to her, and doesn’t that say a lot?)

Liz can’t stop the rush of air that leaves her then, like a punch to her gut, right over her wounds, and the tears follow, rushing down her face and blurring the sight of his features, contorted and angry and she hates it. Hates this. Knows right now that she’d do absolutely anything to get rid of that expression, that fury, the full force of it that she’s never felt directed at her before.

(She’s never hurt like his before. She’s been widowed and knocked unconscious for an entire year and she’s never hurt like this before. Does Red feel this pain too?)

Liz opens her mouth then, with no specific intentions, maybe to speak, maybe to scream, she doesn’t know, but it also doesn’t matter because once again Red stops her in her tracks.

“There’s nothing you can say.”

The words brook no argument, though they’ve fallen flat, emotionless, all the anger and fury gone, and damn it if that doesn’t hurt the worst, the complete and utter defeat she sees in his eyes.

He shakes his head weakly, looking down at his feet before he speaks again, softly, sounding like something broken.

“I thought…For a moment, I really thought that you…you…”

And Liz actually leans forward, cranes her neck, tilts her head, so desperate she is to hear what he  _thought_ , what he thought she was, did,  _felt_.

(Because she’s not stupid, she can fill in the blanks he’s leaving everywhere, and the worst part is? He’s probably right. She was starting to.)

“But it doesn’t matter.” His head lifts to glare at her again and she wants to sob at the loss of everything he didn’t say. “I was wrong. You betrayed me. Again. And it will be the last time.”

He must see the fear reflected in her eyes then, the sheer shock of the factual, no-nonsense way he states this, because he continues.

(He’s not done carving holes in her.)

“It will be the last time because one of two things will happen now. I’ll either escape from here somehow – despite your best efforts – and go somewhere far,  _far_  away from you.”

(And oh, surely, she’s bleeding profusely from somewhere in her body, she must be, what else could hurt this badly?)

“Or I won’t escape, and they will sentence me to death. And they will kill me.”

No, that hurts more, the worst  _of it all_ , the thought of him in that orange jump suit in a glass chamber with a  _needle in his arm_ –

And she’s gasping and sobbing, a hand coming up to cover her mouth at the very thought of it, but he’s not done yet.

(He’ll never be done with her.)

“And thanks to you,  _Agent Keen_ , that’s a distinct possibility.” No, no, no, she hates the way he’s dragging out her title like it’s a mockery and why, oh why, did she listen to her  _stupid sister_  and –

“I hope you’re happy, Lizzie.”

He delivers these last words quietly, with the unflinching accuracy and precision of a gun fired right into her heart, and he may as well have shot her with as much as she’s bleeding for him right now.

(And wasn’t that the first thing she was told about him, that he’s an expert at hurting people, always knows where to hit them the hardest? And it turns out she’s no exception. Not anymore.)

“Leave.”

And it’s as if he’s released her with that one word, cold and callous and unfeeling, and she’s spinning around and stumbling away, sobbing and gasping, and it’s a miracle she makes it up the stairs and out the door without tripping over the shattered remains of her heart and falling flat on her face. But somehow, she reaches her car and locks herself in, proceeding to fall apart behind the relative privacy of the tinted windows.

He knows. He knows what she did and who she really is and what could be more ironic? She hasn’t discovered any of his secrets, but he’s finally unearthed hers. And the secret is that she’s a horrible, broken, shell of a person that drove away the one person left on this earth who loved her. And she’s broken something that can’t be mended.

Their hearts.

* * *

 

(And what she doesn’t see, while she’s running away and not looking back, is Red in his cell, collapsing to his knees and letting go of the tears he’s been holding in since he learned the truth. The truth he’d been suspecting and dreading in equal measure, that she’d done it once again, betrayed him, taken his quiet, desperate,  _aching_  love for her and thrown it back in his face in exchange for the worst fate he can imagine. She wants him dead and gone and he’s on his way there and there’s nothing left to do now but sit here, alone in a cell, mourning his life, his love,  _his heart._

Broken.)


End file.
